I shouldn’t be selfish and keep this to myself. Actually, it’s not so much because I want it all to myself, but because the things I find there often become gifts for family and friends. And if my loved ones knew how little I paid for things, well, they might think I was cheap.
Which, of course, I am. Cheap, I mean. In the financial sense.
The store to which I refer is Morrison’s discount store.
I’ve mentioned it many times. Anyone who knows me knows I shop there. I’ve followed Mr. Morrison all over town. First at his old Oregon Street store across from the Ice House. That old building had sloped wood floors, which made it a challenge to push a baby stroller.
For an idea of how long ago that was, my first baby is 29 now, and my last baby is married. My kids practically grew up in Morrison’s.
I followed Morrison’s to its new home in the former Safeway space that’s now Ace Hardware, across from Shasta Learning Center. I followed Morrison’s up Miracle Mile and into the Shopko Shopping Center. That was my least-favorite store. Too tiny. But I managed.
Finally, I followed Morrison’s to its current location, to the Cypress Square Shopping Center, where Almost Perfect used to be. It’s a big space, but it’s filling up nicely.
Morrison’s isn’t for everyone. My husband, for example, can’t handle Morrison’s. He takes one look at all those tables and bins and boxes and shelves of odd ball dusty old stuff and funky new stuff and Bruce runs screaming, right past some really interesting things, like stacks of “Made in U.S.A.” Anchor Hocking Anchorware.
I understand. Morrison’s is eclectic. I’m the first to admit that it has a diverse mix of merchandise, like bins of tools to clean car battery posts. And scads of party bags and party favors (rubber chicken keychains, anyone?) and brand-new nice baskets and costume jewelry and the most God-awful, gaudy, perfect-for-Halloween earrings and bodice-buster paperbacks for 15 cents and organza bags of every size. And lots of fishing equipment and lures and angler-related whatnots.
My latest, favorite buy are these absolutely cool double-thick paper bags with heavy threaded stitching on their bottoms. They look like they were intended to hold 50-pound-sacks of flour or seed or something.
Mr. Morrison said the sacks are old, but when they were new, they sold for 23 cents each. He now sells them for 9 cents each.
What a deal.
Wednesday I bought 40. I don’t know what I’ll do with them. But I’ll think of something.
Before the holidays I introduced a good friend to Morrison’s, and now she’s hooked, too. Like me, she’s on a first-name basis with the main players: Bill (Mr. Morrison), and his daughter, Beverly, and Joel, their right-hand man.
My friend bought 40 paper sacks, also.
No worries. There’s a whole pallet of them in the storage space, you’ll find them behind the bodice-buster paperbacks.